


Will o' the wisp (ignis fatuus)

by ukenceto



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, background oc, libnyxweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 18:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12917646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukenceto/pseuds/ukenceto
Summary: //1: an atmospheric ghost light seen at night, especially over bogs, swamps, or marshes. It resembles a flickering lamp and is said to recede if approached, drawing travellers from the safe paths.2: a deceptive goal or hope.//written for day 1 of LibNyx week; prompt -  Undead AU





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

***

 

 

Sitting on the edge of the campsite had become almost a habit of his lately. The quiet at that hazy line where light met darkness enveloped him, the distant chatter of the other Glaives faded in the background. Not quite out there but still close enough to feel the daemonic presence lurking in the shadows, with only the glowing runes of the camp to serve as protection. It was a spot which even those on guard duty avoided – and could he really blame them for it?

 

The reflection of something akin to a pair of eyes there where nothing cast light; the low rumble reverberating through the ground under his feet, the ink-black void of the skies above. No more stars, no moon either – it had been so for almost a year now, since the darkness fell and completely obscured the light from Eos. Unsettling at the least, truly disturbing for most.   

 

He'd stay around the fire, share dinner with the others, but before long the urge to go away, to be left alone in his own head would be overwhelming. Even the Glaives making idle talk was enough to somehow grate on his mind. He wasn't annoyed, or angry, it was something more like fatigue, starting from his very bones, filling his mind with fog that not even hours spent fighting and salvaging meteor shards could truly clear up.

 

He didn't feel driven by the darkness like some people had started complaining; quite the opposite really. He kept catching himself looking wistfully at the skies, hoping to see the telltale blues and light of a coming dawn. But, much like the months before, no such thing ever came.

 

If he spoke to anyone about it, they were like _'yes, everyone expects it in a way'_ or _'we are becoming used to it sadly'_ – but he suspected no one felt that growing sense of urgency, of time running out like fine sand between his fingertips quite the same way. Of anxiously awaiting something he wasn't even able to name at this point, not completely at least.

 

He longed for Nyx's presence, wished with all his heart to see his friend return one day; to meet him in Lestallum's marketplace, or by Cor's side, cloaked and perhaps a bit roughened up by a wary travel, but there nonetheless – with a familiar glint in his eyes, with a _'Long time no see, Lib'_ , or just a quiet embrace. He'd dreamed of that moment too, many times now and it was one of the few dreams which didn't leave him startling awake, a shout stuck in his throat.

 

But instead, those dreams left him aching in a different way, clutching at the thin fabric of the worn blanket, tears welling up unbidden beneath his eyelids.

 

Because deep down Libertus knew Nyx would not return to him. Not like this at least, if they were to ever see each other again. There was a growing certainty in his mind that much like he'd always expected, he'd meet his demise in battle – in the claws of monsters in an endless night rather than the machinery of Niflheim, but battle nonetheless. And at that end, he was going to see Nyx again. And Crowe, and Pelna, and his long lost family, all those whose graves he'd left back in Galahd.

 

A home which was no longer home, not without Nyx and not without a light to keep the daemons away. Everyone had sought refuge in Lestallum, and Libertus had heeded the call for arms, for all remaining Kingsglaive to gather there and do what they could to aid those in need. To serve the King of Light, to await his rightful vengeance upon the wicked, the cure for the plague of the Starscourge.

 

And for a year he'd aided the Glaives whom returned, their memories askew and their arms wavering at first, but slowly growing stronger. It had given him a purpose, a reason to keep going, a way to honour the fallen and to continue the legacy left by braver souls.

 

Nyx's words often came up in his mind, the memory stark against the rest; words from a time which had left him full of grief, and anger and pain. Back then he hadn't listened, he'd not stood by Nyx's side as he should have, and the guilt was going to follow him for the rest of his life. Because had he remained loyal to Regis, maybe things would've ended up differently, maybe Nyx would've been with him now.

 

His friend had forgiven him, that last moment they met before parting ways again, before Libertus drove the dagger in Drautos' neck and hoped Nyx would finish the fight. But still, that very guilt weighted heavy upon his mind and heart, like a burden over his shoulders that seemed to grow and grow instead of fading.

 

He'd waited for Nyx back in Galahd, he'd written letters, most of which ended up in the flames of a fire – the only way Libertus knew they could reach the one they were intended for. Words bled into paper, turning into ashes, words he never got the chance to speak, to be heard when it had mattered.  

 

 

 

And so the time went on, in fighting and restless slumber, driven by strength which he dared not name, lest it leave him as then he'd truly have nothing left. He saw that many of the Glaives had come to like him, to not shy away from asking for advice or just coming by for an idle chat – but Libertus couldn't let himself grow attached, couldn't let either of them any close.

 

Not friends, but not just acquaintances either – comrades maybe, that was what they all were. People who depended on each other for survival, for the functioning of a society in turmoil, one tossed into chaos but still making it somehow… And that was the catch, wasn't it? To make it. For long years after Galahd's fall, it was what he and Nyx had done – they'd made it, day after day, battle after battle, supporting each other and having each other's backs and telling each other that yes, _'one day we will return home, and it will be home again'_. It was bracing against the nightmares, it was comforting arms where all words had but failed, it was friendship which lasted beyond any and all squabbles and differences, and was what had kept them sane.

 

 

The world around them had been harsh and unforgiving but they'd had each other. Nyx's loyalty to hearth and home was almost up to a fault, his readiness to sacrifice himself for the good of others - an inspiration Libertus sought endlessly, like a comet pulled forth irresistibly by the gravity of a planet. And now that he was all alone, it felt as if he'd lost his axis, thrown to wander amidst the cold void.

 

 

Lately, less and less people had been coming to Lestallum, the darkness taking its devastating toll upon the lands of Eos. The remaining Glaive had all but gathered already, and with Cor's assistance, Libertus was teaching fighting techniques to other volunteers, to the point where a big part of the population was ready to form groups and go out on scavenger hunts, be it for meteorite shards or other necessities. People held onto survival, made the most of what they had left, of the ruins of a previously orderly world.

 

And so Libertus slowly began to feel that his presence was losing the necessity it had at first; that there was something else he had to do, something else he needed to focus on. A thing he'd avoided for long, be it from denial or the inability to accept the true burden it had on his mind. His thoughts kept circling it, like a tired pack of wolves after a heavy winter, threatening to consume him from within unless he came to face it.

 

 

Footsteps close behind him interrupted his thoughts, and even though Libertus knew he was safe in the campsite grounds, he mentally cursed himself for not noticing the presence earlier. He couldn't let his instincts be dulled down, especially not in times like those. Had to keep sharp, despite all. So he remained quiet, not wishing to let whoever was nearby know that they had managed to sneak up on him.

 

"Sir?" A voice barely a notch above boyish sounded with a characteristic uncertainty that Libertus had come to recognize as one of the newest recruits. There was promise in him, even if he was a bit jumpy at first, and somewhat of a klutz later on. He was already getting better though, and Libertus knew the others would keep an eye out for him just in case.

 

"Yes Carmine. What is it?" He spoke, finally turning to look at the kid.

 

"Uh, nothing really, I – I'm just on watch tonight. Gave me bit of a scare, when I saw you here, a shadow near the border."

 

Watch, huh… Must've been pretty late then. It was getting easier to lose track of time when there was no real indication of its passing, nothing to keep one's internal clock running as it should. Libertus wondered if Carmine really didn't have anything to say to him; after all, the kid was shy but much like the rest of the squad, would occasionally confide in him.

 

"If I really was something bad, I might as well have caught you by now. Where's your weapon? Always have it ready when you're checking up on suspicious situations." He tried to keep his tone from being berating, instead wanting for Carmine to remember his words as an advice for the future.

 

"Ah, yes of course – I should… Sir, if I might ask, what were you doing here?"

 

"Nothing. Just thinking." Libertus sighed. So his 'sessions' weren't going unnoticed, and if Carmine had grown curious or worried enough to ask, others would surely follow not far in the future. It was simply concern, for him as well as for themselves, but he didn't wish to talk about it. Couldn't bring himself to open up, it didn't feel right to speak his mind, not even with the people who relied on him so much. "I should go, we have work to do tomorrow. Better get some shuteye."

 

Getting up, Libertus frowned as his leg ached at the movement. If it was due to staying in one position for too long, or a sort of phantom pain from the breakage which was now all healed up, he couldn’t say – but he'd grown to accept the dull ache which seemed to be his companion on most days. When a storm lit up the horizon, he knew it before the rain even reached the land, almost like an old person. Which he felt like more often than not; for he hadn't even reached forty yet, but his body had a lifetime of wear to make up for. Few injuries had left visible scars in his flesh, though a lot more were hidden on the inside, in ways which were making themselves known. Still, he had his strength and not many could best him in battle yet.

 

"True, we're moving camp tomorrow… I forgot. I guess this is goodnight then." Carmine seemed like he was about to add yet another 'sir' to the sentence, but grinned instead as Libertus waved him goodnight in return.

 

 

 

 It had taken him a while to get used to people looking up to him, addressing him with authority, and even now he only accepted it because it seemed to do its purpose – which was to keep some sort of order into their ranks. Apart from that, he was past the time in his life where he'd sought that kind of recognition.

 

Making it over to the tent, he let himself get lost in the motions of preparing for sleep, gathering his scant belongings in a duffel bag by the side of the cot, so that everything was ready for their departure for yet another campground, where they planned to meet with the second scavenger group before returning to Lestallum.

 

 

Unwilling to think of the past any longer that night, and unable to think of the foreseeable future just yet, Libertus laid down and waited for sleep to come to him; wistfully hoping that for once, it wouldn’t bring him nightmares.

 

 

***

 


	2. Chapter 2

***

 

The water scalded his skin, burning almost like the flames of the fire lit on the shore. The nights had gone colder, making thick steam rise above the geothermic pond, spreading around the lands like mist. Libertus knew that even without it, nobody else would come into the too-hot waters, afraid of the demons which might lurk in the depths.

 

He himself kept close to the shoreline, trusting the light of the flames to ward off the darkness. Water reached up to his shoulders even there, and he sighed as the heat soothed the aches of his body, relaxing his tired muscles. The metal of the straight razor in his hand was warm as well, feeling almost like an extension of  his arm.

 

Bringing it up, he slowly dragged it over the side of his head, cutting off the locks of hair which for once fell freely, untamed by the twist of a braid.

 

He watched them disappear  in the indigo blue waters, in a brief glimpse of color akin to seaweed until there was nothing left.

 

In his village in Galahd there was a custom, when it came to one's hair; while the braids signified a lot, and leaving them undone had its own sort of connotations, there were few times in one's life when that wasn't enough. As a child, he hadn't questioned it, not until he'd seen what happened once a warrior did not return from a hunt, or a dreaded disease took over an already weakened soul. It was the widows and the orphans who'd cut their hair short under the veils of mourning; a form of grievance that ran deeper than the color of the cloth they wore.

 

 

He'd held onto the fleeting hope behind Nyx's promise, told himself to wait, to not seal the uncertain odds with an act such as that, lest he challenges fate.

 

But much older, half-forgotten words of warning had woken from their slumber in his mind, and he remembered that the act of mourning was not made just for the sake of the living. And in times when darkness had spread across the land, the words seemed to hold more merit than one could give them amidst broad daylight.

 

Words in a speech of old, whispers in the night; that those who'd passed needed a sign, a guiding  light on their road between the realms, and the traditions were held for a reason. For a soul lost of its path might suffer and never find peace, trapped between this world and the next.

 

When Niflheim's attack on Galahd had taken their families, Libertus remembered that even without the ability to bury them, he and Nyx had a chance to honor tradition, to give their loved ones the deserved rituals, through smoke and silence and prayer. Not to a deity or a power but one sent towards the earth itself, may it accept them back into the cradle of its light, to be born anew in another day and age.

 

And yet, once again he'd found himself unable to bury the one he'd lost; Nyx was likely long gone, dust in what had become the Necropolis of Insomnia. He'd brought Crowe's body back to Galahd and buried her there, atop a hill which overlooked the river. A barren land they'd once played on as children; though in his memory the fields were green with grass and full of flowers, the warm sunlight shining through spotless skies.

 

The cold grip of sorrow had slowly ran through his veins until his heart was aching with it, and Libertus knew the time to offer the same peace to Nyx's memory had come as well.

 

 

 

Once all his hair was as short as it could be, he left the waters; the fire was barely embers now, glimmering in the darkness. Before placing more kindling atop them however, he gathered the dark ash in hand and ran his fingers it over his eyelids and forehead, into the roots of his hair.

 

It was time.

 

***

 

 

The engine started with a cough, but its rumble was quiet enough for him to know it wouldn't alert anyone on post. Not where he planned to pass through anyways; the small gateway near the west wall of Lestallum that no one guarded, because for months not a single person or a vehicle had requested to come through.

 

And why should it? After all, it was the road to the port cities, and the dark bridge which connected the mainland to the Galahd archipelago. The refuges had arrived from there long ago already, as no power could yet reach the land and offer safety from the daemons.

 

It was something Libertus had sworn to amend, to find a way even when it seemed impossible to restore the miles and miles of broken power lines between there and Lestallum. He still planned on figuring out a way to do it, even now, when he was about to take the risk of travelling in that same darkness.

 

 

The white of a flashlight blinded him for a moment, and Libertus shut his eyes, hoping whoever it was wasn't about to raise the alarm. It was the last thing he needed, for all the planning around the schedules of the patrols and the off-chance of a wandering resident, he didn't want to be discovered.

 

Light fading as if from a hand covering it, Libertus frowned in confusion before the passenger door of the truck opened. Damn his luck.

 

Of all the people, it had to be Cor the Immortal himself.

 

Despite that for months now he'd grown to like working alongside the man, Libertus couldn't really say they were anything more than people fighting on the same side. Cor was distant and not only through his attitude; there was a line between them, between the kind of almost-royalty he was and where Libertus had always thought he stood himself. Where Cor was known as a legend among the people, no tales were ever going to be told of the numerous Kingsglaive soldiers that had given their lives for the same king and country.

 

It was the kind of thing Libertus no longer held remorse over, but that invisible ground, a thin red line would always exist in his mind.

 

He braced himself against whatever Cor was about to throw at him, though one thing he hadn't expected that to be, was silence.

 

They stood unmoving in the quiet; the interior of the truck smelled like gasoline and leather, the seats were faded with wear and stained with gun oil.

 

"I'm not about to stop you. Or say you're taking town's property – astrals know, you've earned more than this old junker for all you did here." Cor finally began, voice low and gravelly as usual. "But… I've seen one too many fools step on a path which leads to nothing but death."

 

Libertus didn't reply, eyes still firmly looking forward.

 

"Might've even been that kind of fool myself." Cor added more quietly. "Just tell me why. Not why now, I've suspected you might leave for a while. But why go alone, and to what purpose?"

 

Shaking his head, Libertus turned to him, lips still closed shut. There was a certain form of freedom in silence, though his reason for being quiet was different. It was a vow of sorts, part of what he had to go through with in his grief. If Cor somewhat understood that or not, he didn't pester him further; instead sighed and looked away.

 

"Then so be it. But you better return when this is over. People here need all the help they can get." With that, Cor left the car, patting the door once before disappearing into the lighter street which lead back towards the town.

 

Resting his hands on the steering wheel for a moment, Libertus turned on the overhead lights of the truck and switched into gear. The smooth asphalt under the wheels was soon replaced by  gravel, and the road ahead darker than the inside of a beast.

 

 

 

***

 


	3. Chapter 3

***

 

 

He met the bog witch, and almost died.

 

 

Not because of anything she did that was; the giant cut running over his leg and making him loose blood by the second was what nearly did him in.

 

 

 

It was several night cycles after he'd left Lestallum, the light of the town fading completely from the skies and leaving him to reach outpost after outpost, restock on gas and continue; until the safe houses got few and far in-between, until there was no other place for him to rest than remote campgrounds in the fields by the road.

 

The truck was handling the off-road terrain well enough, and sleeping in the rune-warded grounds allowed him to preserve energy from the vehicle's accumulator by not using the lights.

 

And thus, he'd made it to Galahd; deep into long-abandoned areas of the island, where even the ruins of houses and villages were not present anymore, nature overtaking the ruins. Orientating in the dark and after so many years of a changes was difficult, and more than few times he had to backtrack at the end of a road, or a blockage where he remembered being none.

 

He was telling himself he was close however, had to be – to that same hometown he and Nyx shared, to the caves and waterfalls where they'd played together as children. To the grounds which held a sacrament, a place which even the restless spirits of the long dead could finally find peace in.

 

And maybe the path was the right one, but he didn’t get to find out before the truck gave up, stopping completely with clouds of greasy smoke emerging under the hood – a clear indication for a critical engine failure.

 

Getting out with the little he'd packed along with a weapon and a flashlight, Libertus had wandered in the dark, the shuffling noises all around making the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

 

The smaller daemons had shied away from the bright light, or were slain by his blade, but it seemed each step took him longer than it had before, with bigger daemons rising from the ground and attacking him restlessly.

 

He'd avoided those he could, knowing he couldn't keep fighting for much longer; not when one of them had managed to rake its claws over his leg, cutting through flesh, making blood soak the fabric of his trousers, rivulets of it reaching into his boot. He'd hastily wrapped a tight cloth around it, but could feel it wasn't going to be enough.

 

So he stared into the horizon, hoping to see the telltale sight of a campground, a glimmer of light into the pitch-black night.

 

No such thing ever came however; not until he descended into a valley, and after passing through bushes with thorns that threatened to turn his clothes to shreds, stumbled before a little hut with brightly lit windows.

 

It felt more than surreal, like something out of a fairytale; made of clay and with so much moss growing over the rounded roof that it appeared more akin to a natural formation than anything ever build by humans.

 

He wondered if it was a vision of sorts, if he was passed out somewhere in the fields and this was his mind conjuring something pleasant before he was certainly about to be devoured by a daemon.

 

But the throbbing in his leg was too palpable to be ignored, the cold all around him stark against his skin, wind cutting even through his woolen cloak.

 

With the last shreds of consciousness and strength he could gather, he reached the door and banged on it before falling down, legs no longer able to hold him upright.

 

And as the line of his vision narrowed down to a pinpoint, shadows dancing into his peripherals, he saw the door open and an old, but most definitely human face stare down at him with a slight frown, before his mind slipped into nothingness.

 

 

***

 

He'd drifted in and out of sleep more times than he could count; some even felt like dreams, with the familiar presence of someone he knew was no longer beside him coming into view; then it was replaced by the darkened wood of a low ceiling, the smell of smoke and heat of a fire; water running down his brow, a red-hot stab of pain into his leg.

 

 

Time had become an abstract; for night after night Libertus fought through high fever, with the only comfort of a hand resting over his forehead, the skin warm and dry and most of all alive.

 

 

 

***

 

She said her name was Esmeralda, but he should call her Esme.

 

 

***

 

They spent a lot of time lost in conversation as Libertus felt the strength return into his body; bent over a steaming bowl of soup, sitting on the colorful rugs which covered the floor, he relished into the sound of her voice, the dialect he'd almost forgotten reminding him of his own grandmother.

 

 

Apparently, as much as he hadn't believed the possibility of anyone surviving in the dark, away from all cities of light, the proof was before his eyes. She'd sometimes mutter something about the wandering lights above the moors, about the flickering of natural energy, always avoiding direct answers to his questions. To the how's, the why's; though he believed she was letting him see for himself, in a way.

 

 

The fire burned over peat; something she said there was plenty of around, more than any trees or coal could ever last for. The flames sometimes would go greenish around the edges, or bright blue at the center, sending sparks into the chimney with a crackle and the scent of burning weeds.

 

 

He'd come to realize that in his wandering, he'd gone well past the point he'd initially planned to reach; further into the marshy lands beyond. How had he not sank into the watery, treacherous patches remained a mystery; Esme said the paths through the bogs were ever changing, and only those with a lucky star could find their way.

 

 

She hadn't asked, and he hadn't explained the reasons for his wandering; yet the conversation was starting to stray into direction he hadn't expected.

 

"You are being led on by forces you cannot fully understand." She spoke, the flames reflecting into her dark eyes. "A calling, yes. One you might not be aware of in consciousness."

 

"I… I lost someone." Haven't we all, he thought for a moment. But she seemed to understand, that knowing  look she'd had from the very moment he'd stumbled into her home.

 

"I know the marks of a man in grief." She replied simply. "But this is not why you came. Not anymore, that is. It had been too long, too much time you'd spent looking the other way. The times have changed, and when before nothing might have risen from your actions, the darkness brings the old ways back…"

 

"There must be something I can still do for him…" Libertus feared the meaning behind her words, couldn't let himself believe that Nyx's soul had lost its way.

 

"There is, but not in the sense you reckon." She turned towards him, an odd look crossing her features; it seemed both ancient and timeless, as if knowledge was akin to old gold – never tarnished, yet weighting more than one could expect. "Your yearning has called upon him… Your refusal to mourn had not diminished the guiding light – it has simply changed its course, like a ship steered towards a haunted lighthouse."

 

"What- what does that mean. For him…" Libertus thought back to the dreams he'd had, to the presence that seemed so close yet far away.

 

"You came here to wait." She spoke softly, taking his hand in hers, between palms roughened by decades of labor. "He will come back to you, son of Galahd. Maybe not quite the same as you know him, but he's seen the other side and that changes forever."

 

"Come back?" Libertus shook his head, eyes screwing shut. "He can't – he's gone, I know he is. I searched for his body for days, I asked anyone who'd been there and not a trace had remained."

 

"This is why he will come from the darkness." Whispering, she leaned closer to the fire, as if the words could only be spoken in the light of the flames. "The moors are more ancient than you can remember; they've been here from the times of the very first people to live on the island. And once every few generations, a soul born from this land would return through them, defiant and longing for those left behind. This is more than a burial ground – it is a gateway, and one who is taught how to see can find its borders."

 

Libertus turned her words in his head, over and over, trying and failing to deny himself the fresh shoot of hope which they'd planted in his heart. It was crazy, yet the kind of things the world had shown him of late were way beyond belief as well. And if there truly was a chance…

 

"How will he know. To find the border?" He finally asked, determination clear in his voice.

 

"He's close now, and if you go out there to lead him through, it is all it would take."  She stood, taking a dimmed lantern from atop the mantel.

 

"What do I do?" He reached for his weapon, but Esme stopped him with a hand on his wrist and a shake of her head.

 

"You have to go there unarmed. To find the path as you did before, to believe." Placing the darkened chain of the lantern in his palm, she continued, a glint in her eyes. "Can you do that? For him, whom you love enough to call back from the land of the dead?"   

 

"Yes." The words left his throat with complete certainty, as his fingers closed over the chain. He'd not once in his life doubted he'd stare death in the face if he had to, all for Nyx. It was a conviction down to his very bones; and if he'd failed to save Nyx that night in Insomnia, he would go to the Beyond itself if it meant he could bring him back.

 

 

***

 

 

Once outside, he opened the latch of the lantern, but as bright as the flame inside was, the light didn't reach far – it defined the shadows more than it dispersed them.

 

The wind made the edges of his cloak twist around his legs, but he remained steady, each step forth mindful of the muddy ground and murky waters.

 

But as he almost sank for the third time in a row, Libertus realized this wasn't the way.

 

Slow and steady like healing was good, but this night, filled with terror and the bite of winter's first frost was but a fool's chance, it was running headfirst into danger.

 

So he closed his eyes, and _believed_.

 

 

***


	4. Chapter 4

***

 

In his mind, he called to all those memories he'd tried to tuck away in the past year, all those which send sharp pain into the space between his ribs; all the little things which he knew about Nyx, the moments they'd shared, the battles they've fought, the days of peace they'd yearned for.

 

 

He didn't think of the path, of the ground beneath him or the light in his hand, instead chose to go where his legs took him, forth and forth until he found himself atop a hill, a single willow tree by his side.

 

Hanging the lantern over a crooked branch, he kneeled down, hands sinking into the water that was gathered between in the tree's wide roots. Further down, his arms disappearing up to his shoulders, freezing water cutting though his skin.

 

 

A long moment passed through which nothing happened.

 

 

And then he felt a hand close around his own, and _pull._

 

***

 

His first instinct was to let go, to try and get away. Willing his body to move however, he reached for that hand with his other arm and began to pull up instead.

 

 

Knees slipping into mud as he dug down his boots, trying to keep traction against the huge weight, his grip never wavering; until in a single moment, the pressure was released, and the body came through.

 

Coughing water and shivering, an expanse of pale, naked flesh and hair darkened with water; but more than anything, the bright look of a pair of eyes Libertus would know anywhere.

 

"Nyx…" He whispered, arms wrapping over the man's body, bringing him in a tight embrace. Hand brushing the bangs which clung to Nyx's forehead, Libertus looked at his friend, unable to put a name to all the feelings rushing through his head, unable to speak.

 

But he didn't have to.

 

Nyx was smiling, a glimmer of tears shining in his gaze as he brought their foreheads together, whispering Libertus' name over and over like a prayer, until warm lips found his own.

 

"Here to take me home, hero?" He asked, still pressed close to Libertus, who simply smiled against his cheek.

 

 

 

And with a lantern back in hand, Nyx leaning against him wrapped in his cloak, Libertus found the right path once again.

 

Knowing that now, he'd truly returned home.

 

They both had.

 

 

***

 

Fin.

 


End file.
